Chanukah
by QueenRiley
Summary: In the Holiday Series. Bridge celebrates Chanukah. There will be one fic posted a night for the next eight nights... one for each night of Chanukah.
1. Night 1

Friday December 15, 2006

Two years old

* * *

All Bridge knew was that it was a special night and his father, a writhing mass of darkness and fury, was gone. He'd stomped out and taken his grey storm cloud of hatred with him. That left the most wonderful thing in the world. His mother. She was soft and happy and bright yellow. Even on the darkest of nights, she was a shining beacon of light and understanding.

Bridge loved his mother more than anything in the whole wide world. She never faded, never changed colour. She was always glowing yellow. Just her light could chase away the memory people, the balls of colour that weren't really there. When he was scared, her light could fill the whole entire room. She'd pick him up out of his crib and he'd be overcome with happy memories and calm and love. Even when she was fighting with his father, even when the angry darkness would tint the edges of her beautiful colour, she never projected that onto him. He knew unequivocally that his father hated him, didn't understand him. But with just as much unfailing certainty, he knew his mother's love was unconditional.

And tonight, on the first night of Chanukah, her love was everywhere. His father's churning angry mass was gone. His mother filled the room with her light. He'd gotten to have sufganiyot for dinner. And he had a present. His mother picked him up from the dining room table and carried him into the living room. He hated to be touched, would scream and cry and fight it when it was anybody else. But it was nice when it was his mother. She sat on the couch with him and handed him a little box wrapped in shiny blue paper.

"It's your first present, Bridgey." He tore open the paper and found a box of colourful candles. He wasn't quite sure what to do with them, but he was happy to get a present anyway. They made a neat noise when he shook the box. He was unwrapped from his mother's warm yellow glow when she slid him off her lap and stood up. She opened the box and spread all the candles on the table in front of him.

"It's just candles, but they're yours and you get to choose each night. Pick two candles for the chanukiah!" she told him. He quickly sorted them by colour. There were lots of whites and blues, some reds, a few yellows, one orange. But there were two greens. Just two. She needed two and the green meant no colour would be alone. He picked up the two green candles and handed them to her.

He followed her to the big window at the front of the house. She had placed a table in front of it and there was a shiny silver menorah. He counted eight candlesticks with an extra really tall one standing above the others. There was a silver star at the base, six points, just like on the necklace his mother wore. She put one candle in the very tall holder and the other candle to the far right. She lit a match and it flared dimly, washed out by its proximity to his mother's glow. She lit the tall candle.

"This is the shamash. We use it to light the other candles." She picked it up and lit the other candle while saying a blessing. It was in Hebrew. Bridge liked when she spoke Hebrew. It was melodic and soothing. She held his hand tightly while she said a second and third blessing. He didn't understand the words, but he knew it was special.

When she was finished, he stared in awe. The candles were so bright! The flames were small, but the light they gave was overpowering. The flickering flames made him think of his mother and it was the first time he'd seen anything that didn't get swallowed by her light. They held their own against her glow. They were tiny, but he felt as if those little candles could light up the whole wide world and chase the darkness away. He was mesmerized. Bridge stood in front of the menorah, just watching the flames dance, until they burnt down and eventually sputtered out.

He felt his mother's light surround him once again and he turned into a big hug. She held him close as she carried him upstairs to his bedroom.

"Did you have a good first night of Chanukah, baby?" she asked him softly as she tucked him into his crib. He wanted to tell her how wonderful it was, what the candles were like, but he had no words. He knew he was supposed to have worked that bit out by now, that he wasn't like other kids his age. The words were in his head somewhere, but he hadn't found them yet, hadn't sorted his own out from everybody else's. So he just snuggled down further under his blanket and let his eyes fall closed while his mother stroked his hair. She hummed softly as he drifted off to sleep.


	2. Night 2

Sunday December 22, 2008

Four years old

It was the second night of Chanukah and Bridge was in his usual spot. He stood by the big picture window in the living room, staring. Just staring. He was a big boy now, his mother said so all the time. He was talking, learning to express himself, even figuring out how to interact with people and filter the combating signals the world around him threw at him. And he was finally level with the chanukiah on the small table. He could look straight ahead and not crane his neck up just to see. His mother had lit the candles and they were still there burning brightly. They were getting low and the flames leapt and flickered, the light they cast dancing around him.

He heard the knock at the door but didn't turn. He already knew who was there. He hadn't seen her face, but he'd seen the soft white glow she emanated. His mother beckoned her inside and Bridge knew he was supposed to turn and greet her, to use his words to acknowledge her presence, but the candles were so pretty and they wouldn't last much longer. It was his favourite part of the holiday and he couldn't bear to look away just yet. He could listen though, so he tried to focus on their conversation as well as the comforting flames.

"I'm sorry to intrude on your home, Hannah, but I just couldn't wait until his Wednesday session," the visitor said. His mother hugged her.

"You're not intruding, not at all! You're always welcome here. We were going to have some sufganiyot, it's a type of jelly donut, once the candles burn out. He won't leave that spot until they're done. You should stay." They moved to the couch and the candles flickered wildly with the movement of air when they walked past. He held his breath until they settled, hoping they wouldn't go out. They didn't. He let out the breath slowly so as not to disturb the flames further.

"I had an idea. He was telling me Friday what people look like now that he wears long sleeves and pants all the time. He says he can see faces. He says he didn't understand before and now we look like angels. I think he's still getting trace auras." He knew they were both looking at him, but the shamash snuffed out and the others were getting close. The flames were slowly shrinking, fading into the rapidly vanishing pools of melted wax. It was almost time.

"I suspected as much. He describes people based on colour, and we're not talking black or white. He told Mrs. Cawthorne across the street he was sorry she was so blue and grey all the time since Mr. Cawthorne had died and he hoped she could go back to being all reds and pinks again soon. Poor thing never heard him speak before. She was amazed. Didn't understand him, but shocked he could speak at all." The first candle sputtered and died. He held his breath as the second faded to a small blue flicker.

"I think it's his hands. He's getting most of his information through his hands. So I wanted to try an experiment. The sooner the better. If it works, he may not need sessions with me any longer. He could function somewhat normaly." The last flame gave up the fight and snuffed out in a puff of smoke. He turned to the couch where his mother and the visitor were sitting. He was finally ready to acknowledge them.

"Hey, Bridgey, look who came to see us!" his mother exclaimed.

"Hullo, Dr. Kat," he said with a little wave. She opened her arms and he climbed up into her lap.

"I brought you a present, Bridge. Would you like to see?" she asked him. His eyes went wide. He loved presents! He nodded emphatically and she pulled it out from her jacket. The box was long and thin wrapped in blue and silver paper. He tore into it with gusto. Paper flew and he lifted the lid to reveal a small pair of black leather gloves. He looked up as Dr. Kat pulled them from the box. He touched them carefully and his mother cleared her throat. She was prompting something. Oh, right!

"Thank you, Dr. Kat, for the nice gloves." He tried to sound excited. But it wasn't like a book or a space ship or an action figure. She chuckled at him, though it sounded more like a purr than anything else.

"They might block out the auras. Try them on," she encouraged. That would make them an okay gift, if it blocked out all the stuff he could see and hear that he wasn't supposed to. He was surprised at how comfortable they were as she helped him slip them on. The effect was instantaneous. It was almost like he'd put on sunglasses. The world seemed darker, more muted, and he couldn't make out any shadow colours or people that weren't there anymore. He could see everything, all the objects, all the corners. He couldn't hear the voices whispering in his head any longer. It was so quiet. He looked up at Dr. Kat. She didn't glow anymore. He could make out every little detail of her face.

"You have kitty ears," he observed. She burst out laughing and he saw rows of sharp teeth.

"I guess it works!" she exclaimed. His mother was laughing as well and when he looked at her, he could still see her brilliant yellow glow. It didn't cover her entirely though, and he could make out her features, soft and smooth and happy. He jumped down and walked over to her, reaching up for her face. She stilled and let him poke at her for a minute. He traced the lines in her forehead, touched her long brown hair. Tears shimmered in her eyes as he placed his two tiny hands on each side of her face, cupping her cheeks with the stiff leather on his pudgy little fingers.

"Mama, you're so pretty!" he whispered. She laughed and hugged him close, kissing him all over his wild hair.

"Thank you, Dr. Kat. Thank you so much," she whispered through her sniffles.

"It's all quiet now! I'm alone in my head. It's a Chanukah miracle," he said, pulling back from her embrace. They laughed at that too, though he wasn't quite sure why. He'd never been alone in his own head before. It sure felt like a miracle to him. Dr. Kat ruffled his hair.

"Happy Chanukah, Bridge."


	3. Night 3

Friday December 3, 2010

Six years old

It was tradition more than anything these days, but just like every other night from every Chanukah he'd ever had, Bridge stood and watched the candles burn. He was still mesmerized, even if now he knew they weren't really like his mother at all. He'd moved to the couch tonight, leaning over the side to get a good view. They were lasting extra long because it was Shabbat and the third night of Chanukah at the same time. So on top of the candles in the chanukiah, he was also watching the two thick white Shabbat candles burn down. They were almost out now.

There was a knock at the door and Bridge jumped off the couch, racing around the tv stand. He turned the knob but stopped himself. He was supposed to ask who was there first, especially now that he couldn't feel them before they got there.

"Who is it?" he yelled through the door. His mother came in from the kitchen, drying her hands on a towel.

"It's Rabbi Gordon," the deep voice of his rabbi boomed. He threw open the door and launched himself at the rabbi's legs before he could even step into the house. He could hear his mother chuckle, but he couldn't help himself. The rabbi was so nice and he liked being around him. He couldn't help but give him a hug.

"Can I come in?" the rabbi asked and Bridge let him go, backing up into the house. The rabbi followed him and kissed his mother on her cheeks.

"Shabbat shalom, Hannah," he said.

"Shabbat shalom, Rabbi, and chag sameach. I was just cleaning up from dinner. Would you like some latkes? They're still warm," she asked. He nodded and she smiled. "Please, make yourself at home," she said, gesturing to the couch. Bridge had climbed back up and was leaning over the side again. The Chanukah candles had flickered out, but the two Shabbat candles still had little white stubs of wax waiting to finish.

"I came to see you tonight, Bridge," the rabbi said, interrupting his thoughts. Bridge's mother returned with a plate of latkes, putting them on the coffee table. She sat down and gave a warning look to her son.

"Did Bridge do something wrong at Tot Shabbat tonight, Rabbi?" she asked.

"Oh, no, no nothing like that. Bridge was fine tonight. No, this is about something he said during our lesson on Wednesday." Rabbi Gordon tried to be reassuring, but Bridge could tell his mother didn't buy it. He really had been good though, as good as he could be, but it was so hard to sit still when all the other kids were just exuding energy and excitement. He sat back next to Rabbi Gordon and looked up. He liked the Rabbi. His hair was wild like Bridge's, though it was curly and dark. He had thick glasses, and the roundest, happiest face Bridge had ever seen. And he was the most vibrant shade of violet when Bridge had to take a glove off around him. It was inspiring, seeing the violet just radiate off him in waves. It made Bridge want to work harder, learn more.

"Is there a problem?" his mother asked again. She was leaning forward in her chair and though he couldn't feel it, Bridge knew she was worried. He'd had so many problems for so long now. He couldn't even be in the Hebrew school classes anymore. The teachers couldn't handle his special needs and odd manner and he'd been asked, politely, to not return, even to the baby Aleph class. The Rabbi had to teach him on his own now.

"Well, we moved into the library this week. Bridge said it was easier to focus without the… oh… what did you call them?"

"Memory people. There's too many of them in your office." Rabbi Gordon nodded and Bridge's mother quirked an eyebrow. He shrugged. He couldn't help it if there were too many people in the office. Or that used to be in the office. It was hard to tell sometimes.

"Yes, the memory people. Well, we moved to the library where there are no memory people and Bridge… had a bit of a breakthrough. He was looking at the books and confided something in me. Do you remember what you said, Bridge?" he asked. Bridge looked down at his hands. He thought rabbis weren't supposed to tell people things you told them and he didn't want his mom to be upset. He felt her eyes on him and nodded, but he wouldn't speak. Rabbi Gordon put a hand on his shoulder and spoke for him instead.

"He told me he's tired of being different, that he wants to be just like everybody else." He moved to stroke Bridge's hair and it made Bridge want to curl up in a little ball in his lap. He heard his mother's breath hitch, but he couldn't bear to look at her and know he'd made her sad. Rabbi Gordon continued. "I thought about it for a bit since my usual advice wouldn't quite work with such a special little boy. Tonight's sermon really summed up everything I want you to understand, Bridge, so I had to come right over and tell you all about it. Would you like to hear my story?" Bridge looked up and nodded. He definitely wanted to hear this.

"Do you know the story of Chanukah?" he asked. Bridge nodded again. He spoke this time.

"King Antiochus made a law so that the Jews couldn't worship how they wanted to anymore. Lots of people stopped talking to G-d, but some of them didn't. He killed the ones who didn't, but some of them survived and hid in the hills. They decided to fight back and formed an army led by Judah Maccabee. Judah and the other Jews fought for three long years, even though their army was really small and the king had huge armies, but they finally won. They took back the Temple and got it all cleaned up, but when they did, they found only one jug of oil. They needed to light the menorah but one jug wasn't enough. It would only burn for one day. They wouldn't have time to make more oil and that took eight days. Somebody went out to make oil and they lit the menorah anyway. Miraculously, the oil burnt for eight whole days and nights, just long enough for more oil to be made. And that's why we celebrate for eight nights." His mother looked proud and the Rabbi looked impressed. He liked it when people were impressed with him.

"Very good. But there's a more important lesson than the oil burning for eight days. There is the real meaning of Chanukah. Do you know what it is?" Bridge thought about it for a minute but couldn't figure it out. He just knew about the oil. He shook his head.

"My story for you is the first part of the Chanukah story. It's the most important part. It's not about oil or Temples or miracles. It's about being different. You see, King Antiochus didn't make laws against being Jewish because it was good for the country. He made laws against being Jewish because we were different. King Antiochus didn't like different. He didn't understand it. So it scared him. And in order to deal with that, he made laws against it." Bridge kind of understood. He knew people feared things they didn't understand. It's why so many people were mean of him.

"Some people went along with it. They were afraid to be different, so they changed themselves just to fit in. Do you think that made them very happy, Bridge?" Rabbi Gordon asked. Bridge shook his head hard.

"You can't change who you are. If you try, it's like a lie and that makes your insides sad," he said. His mother smiled, trying to suppress a chuckle.

"You're absolutely right. The people who went along with the law and stopped reading Torah weren't very happy with themselves. It was hard to change just because somebody else wanted them too. But there were others. There were other people who didn't want to change."

"Judah Maccabee!" Bridge cried out, bouncing up to sit on his knees.

"Yes! Judah and his brothers and their father, as well as lots of other people from the city. They didn't want to stop being different. They were proud of who they were, proud to be Jewish. They liked being different. Because they knew something the rest of the city didn't." Bridge looked confused. What secret could they know? It wasn't in any of the stories he'd ever heard.

"They knew that everybody was different. No one person is the same as another, not in the way they think or the things they like. Everybody is different somehow. And that's okay. It's good to be different. It makes you special, makes you unique. Being different makes you who you are. Judah Maccabee knew it. And he fought for it. He was happy he was different and he wasn't going to give that up. So he fought. And he won. He won the right to be himself. That's what Chanukah is really about, Bridge. It's about being different and being proud of it." Realization dawned on Bridge. It all made sense now.

"So… I'm okay, just the way I am?" he asked quietly. Rabbi Gordon nodded.

"Bridge, you are perfect, just the way you are. You are the best you there ever could be. Be proud of it." Bridge wrapped him in a tight hug. He understood now. He was different, but that was okay. He was like Judah Maccabee. And he would always be proud of it. He wouldn't try to fit in. He'd be himself, no matter what.

Rabbi Gordon gave him the best present that night; a sense of self worth.


	4. Night 4

Glossary of Yiddish words and phrases:

Gut yontif- good holiday

Az a yor af mir- I should be so lucky/I should have such good luck

Boychik- young boy, used as a term of endearment

A shtik naches- a great joy

Shmatteh- worthless

Mensch- a good man, a respectable person

Tuesday December 11, 2012

8 years old

Bridge wasn't entirely sure what was going on, but he wasn't exactly going to complain about it at the moment. His mother had woken him early that morning, quickly packed some bags, and told him he wasn't going to school for the rest of the week. They had something more important to do. She rarely took him out of school unless he was sick, particularly when the long winter break was coming up, and he knew nothing was more important to his mother than his education. He didn't ask why or where they were going; he just went along with it. Anything would be better than being in school.

They'd driven all day and had only stopped for lunch. They were going to visit Bubbe and Zayde, she had told him, and once he knew where they were going, he could only wish for the drive to be over sooner. He loved visiting Bubbe's house. He never got to visit his grandparents during the school year, so he figured this was his Chanukah present.

They pulled up in front of the nursing home just as the sun was setting. He wondered why they hadn't stopped at the house first, but maybe since it was starting to get dark his mom just wanted to get a start on the Chanukah celebration. He followed her in and tightened his gloves at the door. He didn't mind nursing homes so much, people were generally at peace there, but the traces of the past clung to those near death like barnacles on a ship and that tended to make him uncomfortable. But Zayde was here, had been for years, and he would put up with trace memories just to see him. There was no man more important to Bridge than his grandfather.

"Zayde!" he cried when they reached the end of the long hallway. His door was open and he was propped up in his bed with more pillows than Bridge had ever seen. He looked much thinner than the last visit, much paler. Zayde's skin hung off him like limp tissue paper and it was spotted and mottled with bruises and cuts. He looked sick, but Bridge launched himself into the room anyway.

"Bridge, my darling!" He seemed so surprised. Maybe this was Zayde's Chanukah present too. Bubbe was there, sitting beside her husband and looking like her world was crumbling around her. Bridge could tell she was trying to be happy, but she could never fool him. Grey clouds were swirling around her whole body.

"We came for a visit, Zayde! I get to miss school and everything. Happy Chanukah!" He climbed up on the bed and gave his grandfather a hug. His grandmother shooed him off, but Zayde shushed her.

"Let the boy be, Zelda, he's fine. I'm not so fragile, you know. We're good strong men, eh?"

"Az a yor af mir!" she exclaimed, but she was fighting a smile.

"Your Bubbe, eh my little boychik? She worries too much." Zayde winked at Bubbe and she tried to hide her smile behind a tissue, but it didn't work. Bridge laughed. He liked when his grandfather teased.

"Sigmund, you spoil the boy!"

"A shtik naches. It's my right," his grandfather insisted. He knew the argument was moot. His grandmother would spoil him even more given half the chance. It was comfortable banter and it made him feel more at home.

"Can we light the candles now, Zayde?" he asked, looking around for the chanukiah.

"No fire allowed, no chanukiah." Bridge looked aghast. No chanukiah? No candles? Well what good was Chanukah without the candles?

"We've got this nice electric one!" Bubbe said, pointing to a plastic monstrosity in the window. Bridge stared at it skeptically. "You just twist a bulb and magic! All your lights." He knew she was trying to convince him, but he wasn't a baby anymore. It was a cheap substitution for the real thing.

"Shmatteh, right? Eh, we make do." At least Zayde understood. Bridge climbed off the bed and watched his mother twist the little blue bulb in the shamash and then the four spots to the right. They lit up and he sighed. Well, he wouldn't be watching any candles tonight. No point if they didn't burn. When he turned around, his Zayde held a little box in shaking hands.

"For me?" he asked. Zayde nodded with a wide smile on his gaunt face. His mother excused herself and Bubbe followed, allowing Bridge some time alone with his grandfather. He climbed back on the bed and opened the little box. It wasn't wrapped or anything, but he didn't mind. Inside the plain box was a tiny colourful dreidel. Each side was painted a different colour and the letters, nun gimel hey and shin, were contrasting to stand out.

"It's not much. Can't get out, trapped here in this place," his grandfather sighed. Bridge smiled.

"It's great! Want to play?"

They were still playing, fourth game in, by the time his mother and Bubbe came back. Bridge had won each and every game, but Zayde didn't seem to mind. He was smiling, his eyes misty, the entire time. Bubbe pulled Bridge out of the room and took him down to the cafeteria before they'd even finished the fifth game. His mom wanted some time alone, she'd said. She kept him down there a long time. It was late when they got back and his mother's eyes were red rimmed, but he didn't question her about it. He clutched his new dreidel tight and kissed his grandfather on the cheek.

"See you tomorrow, Zayde. Happy Chanukah," he said. Bridge could hear a rattle deep from within his grandfather with every breath he took.

"Gut yontif, little boychik. You're growing into quite the little mensch. I love you." Zayde replied, placing his shaking hands on either side of Bridge's face. Bridge was flooded with exhaustion, love, longing, and a burning sense of desperation. It all rolled off his grandfather and coursed through him. Colours clouded his vision, streaking off Zayde like a confused rainbow. There were traces of the past clinging to the edges.

"I love you, Zayde," he whispered, suddenly not trusting his voice to the emotions he was trying to rein in. His mother took his hand and led him out to her car. She took a deep breath and drove out the parking lot, leaving Bubbe behind. They were heading to her house, though, no mistaking it. Bridge knew the route well. He looked down at the dreidel. It left little indentions in the thick leather of his gloves.

"Mama?" he asked. He saw her eyes flash in the rearview mirror and he knew she was listening. "Zayde is going to die tonight, isn't he?" It wasn't really a question. He already knew the answer, but pretending made it just that little bit easier to voice. She pulled the car over abruptly. They sat for a minute as traffic sped past, him silent and staring, her breathing deeply and trying not to cry.

"Yes, baby," she finally managed to say. Tears began to pool in Bridge's eyes at the answer he already knew. Without a word, without so much as a sound, Bridge's mother climbed in the backseat. She unbuckled him and pulled him out of his booster straight into her lap. He hadn't sat like this since he was very small, but right now he didn't care. His Zayde was going to die and his heart was breaking. They clung to each other, seeking comfort and solace for their mutual loss. Bridge slipped one of his gloves off and fingered the little dreidel. He was treated to flashes of his grandfather, memories imprinted on the object, and he screwed his eyes shut tight against the tears to better see the memories. He never wanted to let go, and for the first time ever, he didn't want morning and another day of Chanukah to come.


	5. Night 5

Thursday December 10, 2015

Age eleven

Bridge came tearing into the house, slamming the door behind him. If he missed dinner, his mom would have his head. He was already home later than promised. He could smell frying potatoes and he heard the sizzle of the hot oil all the way from the kitchen.

"Mama, I'm home!" he called. He headed towards the back of the house, the smells from the kitchen calling to him as they wafted through.

"You're late," she yelled back at him. He pushed his way through the swinging door into the kitchen and found her standing over the stove, tentatively dipping a slotted spoon into her big frying pan.

"I'm sorry. I found a lost dog. Had to trace his path back to home. But I can't be too late. You're still cooking." He spied the plate of cooling latkes next to the stove and covertly moved towards it. His stomach rumbled.

"Both you and dinner can be late at the same time, y'know." He reached for a latke, slowly sliding his gloved hand up the cabinets in the hopes his mother wouldn't notice. She did, of course, and smacked his hand away with the spoon. He frowned.

"But if I'm late and dinner is late, does that mean we're really late? Or are we on time, since we show up together? And if dinner is late and I'm here before dinner, am I really late? Or am I early?" He was pondering the intricacies of time when his mother, having pulled the last of the latkes out of the pan, shoved the plate into his waiting hands.

"Oh, go put those on the table. You're both late. Time ticks away, regardless of who wishes it to stop." She nudged him through the door and to the dining room, following behind with a plate of chicken and a bowl of green beans.

* * *

They enjoyed a mostly quiet dinner and, despite being a bit late, lit all five Chanukah candles together. Bridge made himself comfortable on the couch, leaning over the edge for the best view, and settled in to watch them burn down. He heard the dishwasher start in the kitchen and then the couch dipped beside him as his mother sat down.

"You… you may not want tonight's present," she said with a sigh. Bridge turned to squint at his mom. Not want a present? Was she crazy?

"Not want the present? What is this madness you speak of?" he asked

"Of which you speak," she corrected automatically. He rolled his eyes as she continued. "It's… well it's an emotional thing. I'm just not sure it will be welcome. But I promised, so here." She thrust a small box in his face and he turned to open it. He couldn't think of much he wouldn't be excited to get. Even socks could be fun if they had the right personality.

Inside was a gold watch. Bridge wasn't much for gold, but it seemed an interesting watch. There were lots of little dials visible and knobs that did who knew what. He examined it carefully. He really didn't have a need for a watch. He had a cellphone to help him keep track of time and he was never far from a computer, but it was an interesting gift nonetheless. Maybe he could take it apart to see how it worked.

"It's a neat watch," he said, playing with the little knobs. His mother sighed.

"It was your father's." He immediately dropped it as if it had burnt him. It clattered to the floor and he didn't care if it was broken or not. She picked it up and held it carefully in her lap.

"I don't want it." He felt the world spin around him, like he was watching a wave rush away from his feet at the beach. She didn't offer it to him again and he was grateful, though he knew she'd try to convince him to take it.

"I promised him I'd give it to you when you were old enough," she said. He crossed his arms and shook his head.

"He left me. Twice. I don't want his stupid watch." He hated his father. Hated him with the same boiling storm of emotion his father had always directed at him. He didn't want to be like the old man, but he couldn't help it sometimes.

"I know, baby, but a promise is a promise." She reached out to stroke his hair and he jerked back.

"I'm not a baby. And you can break your promise to him. He broke all his to you. And to me." His eyes were hard and he thought maybe if he clenched his teeth a little harder, she'd get the point. He watched as she fingered the metal band of the cursed watch. He wasn't going to take it.

"You will always be my baby. He may have let us down, but I won't break my promise to him. I don't break my promises." Bridge sighed and collapsed back, the anger rushing out of him. He knew she was right. His mother would never let anyone down. She wasn't like that, not at all. She was better than his father.

"He left us, Mama. He hated me. I could see it all the time. He was energy and stormy and angry. He walked out on us and I never saw him again. Seven years and he never even tried to see me! And then he left us again when he went and killed himself last summer. A stupid watch can't change that. He didn't want us and I don't want him. I don't want anything that ever was his!" He could feel the anger coming back. He wasn't as good at forgiveness as his mother. He couldn't ever forgive that man for what he'd done. He never wanted to, and he knew it would mean he'd be angry forever. But he didn't care right now.

"I was once his. Not everything he touched was bad. He gave me you." Her voice was soft and that almost made it worse.

"He called me damaged goods, Mama! He said he ruined me! You can't fix genetics, remember?" His voice wavered and cracked. He mentally cursed himself that he couldn't control it.

"But you know that's not true. You aren't damaged and you aren't ruined. You're a wonderful boy, turning into a wonderful young man. He couldn't see it and that's his fault, yes, but you can't hate him forever. He is a part of you, Bridge, whether you want him to be or not." She was right again. She was always right. It was infuriating. Even worse, he couldn't be angry at her, not when she glowed so strongly with such warmth and compassion. She was the only person who could break through the barrier of his gloves and he both hated and loved her for it at the same time. It was so confusing.

He reached out for the watch. She passed it to him and he reluctantly clutched it in his hand. He gripped it tight and felt the hatred surge again. He looked from his mother to the watch and back again. She seemed nervous almost.

"I don't want it!" he yelled. He pulled his arm back as if to throw it but stopped himself. He didn't know why, but he just couldn't do it. He wanted to. Oh he wanted to smash it so much, but something wouldn't let him. Something inside was stopping him. He visibly deflated, sitting back and slipping the watch over his hand. It went right past his glove to rest on his exposed wrist. It hung loosely and was heavier than he expected. He was grateful that most of the memory flashes he got from the skin contact were of his mother. She's apparently handled it a lot in the past few months. There were some traces of the lawyer he'd met only once when they settled his father's will, but that was it really. He could feel an undercurrent of his father there, emotions pushed to the background, and he tried not to focus on it. It wasn't as angry as he remembered though. It was almost sad, regretful. But he wouldn't focus on that now. It was easier to hate him still.

"I don't want it," he whispered, curling against the arm of the couch. He rested his chin on his crossed arms and looked away from his mother. He focused on the candles again. The warm glow had carried him through so much before. They could get him through this night. He let his mother stroke his hair like she had when he was a baby. It had gotten long, past his ears now, and she was able to curl it around her finger. She overwhelmed him with as much love and calm as she could send and he let it wash over him. It chased away the anger, covered up the hate he felt. He settled almost immediately. They sat like that, him watching the flames and his mother playing with his hair, until the candles sputtered out.


	6. Night 6

Author's note: I don't actually know at what age cadets start out at the Academy. I know Sam was roughly 10 years old when he started, but he was also an orphan without a home or direction and everybody else seemed older. I figure 12/13 is likely a reasonable age to start the training. If anybody has SPD canon evidence to the contrary, please let me know! I won't change the fic, but it would be good info to have for future projects.

* * *

Sunday December 17, 2017

Age thirteen

Bridge wandered the hallways aimlessly. He was supposed to be going down to breakfast, but it was Sunday and there wasn't a lot to do, so breakfast could wait a bit. He was still trying to map out the hallways in his head. The SPD Academy was huge. He'd been here three months and still got turned around sometimes. He'd just rounded a corner when he bumped, quite literally, into somebody bigger than himself. He crashed to the floor and the other person dropped a large box and stammered an apology.

"Oh geez, I'm sorry! Are you okay? I didn't mean to run into you!" the figure asked. Bridge rolled to the side and stood up. He was a head shorter than the other boy. He brushed off his jeans and smiled.

"I'm fine. Are you?" he asked. The other boy nodded and Bridge looked around at the mess they had made. There were wires and circuitry everywhere. He bent down to help pick up.

"You don't have to! I got it," the other boy insisted. Bridge ignored it and continued to pick up. The last item, which had skidded all the way across the hall and was wedged in the corner, looked like some optical sensors.

"Optics?" he asked. The other boy nodded enthusiastically and launched into a speech about what he was trying to build… something about robotic animals. Bridge listened intently. Robotics had always fascinated him. When the other boy stopped talking long enough to take a breath, Bridge held out his hand.

"I'm Bridge Carson. First year cadet," he introduced himself. The other boy's face fell and he stammered a bit.

"I'm Boom. Not a cadet or anything. I just help out down in the labs. Kind of a guinea pig, I guess." Bridge smiled.

"Sounds like fun!" he said. The other boy was silent, as if waiting for Bridge to say something else. Bridge wasn't sure if there was some social norm he was missing. He did that a lot, actually, but a quick memory check revealed nothing. He didn't know what he was supposed to do so he just stood there. The other boy shifted from foot to foot and finally looked up.

"Aren't you going to make fun of my name?" he asked hesitantly. Bridge furrowed his brow.

"Why would I do that?" he asked. Boom looked surprised.

"Because… my name is Boom?" Bridge wasn't sure it was supposed to be a question, but he flashed a big smile anyway.

"And my name is Bridge. Nice to meet you." He held out his hand and they shook again. "Want to have breakfast with me? If I ask really nicely, the cafeteria ladies make my toast extra buttery!" Boom gave him a funny look, but hefted his full box in his hands and led the way down to the cafeteria. They stopped to drop off the box in the labs and Bridge had a sneaky suspicion he'd met that cat before, but they didn't stop long enough for him to ask, and his mother said it was rude to ask about memory people anyway.

Bridge and Boom shared lunch together as well, and worked on a broken computer, and even went down to the library. Bridge discovered Boom hadn't made it into the Academy and had instead been working in the labs for two years now. He was fifteen, so older than Bridge, but he didn't seem to mind the age difference. They had a lot in common and Boom was the first person Bridge really seemed to connect with at the Academy. In his life altogether, if he was really honest with himself. Bridge had to beg off dinner, though. He'd promised his mom he'd go home for each night of Chanukah that first year. Boom had asked a lot of questions about that, but waved a jaunty goodbye when Bridge took off anyway.

* * *

Bridge returned three hours later, stuffed to the limits with latkes and content at having watched six candles plus the shamash burn down to nothing. He was always relaxed after that. He headed straight for his bunk, hoping his bunkmate wasn't there. He was such a wet blanket and Bridge didn't feel like being treated to recitations of passages from the handbook.

"Bridge! Hey, Bridge, wait up!" a voice called. He turned to see Boom trotting down the hall, a rectangular cardboard box in his hands. Bridge grinned.

"Hey, Boom," he said. "What's that?" He motioned to the box in Boom's hands.

"Oh, it's for you, actually. It's a present. I made it myself." Boom held the box out and Bridge took it eagerly. He led the way to his bunk and let Boom in, motioning for him to sit on the bed to the right. Boom bounced excitedly as Bridge sat next to him and studied the box.

"You didn't have to get me a present!" he said.

"I wanted to! It's your holiday and everybody should get a present. Besides, you were nice to me." Bridge looked up suddenly. Boom looked a little sad.

"Aren't the other people nice to you?" he asked. Boom shook his head.

"No, not really. Most of the cadets just ignore me. Some of them can be pretty mean though. Nobody here really wants to be my friend since I didn't make the cut. I'm just a loser."

"Hey, me too! Nobody wants to be my friend, either, and they all say I'm too weird! Now you and I can be friends and it doesn't matter if nobody else wants to like us, because we'll like each other." Bridge supposed that came out sounding a little happier than he intended, but oh well. It made Boom smile and he finally had a friend.

"Go on, open it!" Boom exclaimed, pointing to the box. Bridge had almost forgotten he was holding it. He pulled back the flaps and pulled out a two slice toaster. It was an amalgamation of parts and had an extra long cord, but it was definitely a recognizable toaster.

"Look, look! I gave it an extension cord so you could keep it on your desk and still reach the outlet by the door. And I know it's black and copperish, but those were the only spare casings we had down in the lab and I had to cut the black one to fit. There's only four settings, but look here on the back. I put an automatic butter sprayer on it!" Bridge flipped the toaster around and stared in awe.

"You made this?" he asked. Boom nodded. "Just for me?"

"Well, you got all excited about that toast this morning, so I figured you must like it a lot." Boom started to seem nervous about his gift, so Bridge smiled in reassurance.

"Thank you so much! I love it. Nobody besides my mom has ever made something so nice for me before." He jumped up to get it all set up. It looked great right next to his computer. He beamed at Boom, who beamed right back.

"Happy Chan… Han… holiday. Happy holiday, Bridge," he attempted, and Bridge burst out laughing. Happy holiday indeed.


	7. Night 7

Saturday December 24, 2022

Age eighteen

The lights were all off when he came to the front walk. He knew his mom was pulling extra shifts at the hospital that weekend to cover the people that wanted to be home for Christmas, but he hoped she'd be home in time for dinner at least. She knew he was coming for the weekend. He pulled out his keys and let himself in. Digging through the kitchen, he realized he was just too tired to cook much and no way would his mom want to cook after having worked such long shifts. He spied the folder of take away menus on the counter and figured he'd do them both a favour.

He passed on the Chinese food. Sunday would be their annual Chinese-food-and-a-movie Christmas date, and he didn't want to have it both nights. Pizza was okay, but nothing really sounded that great. He settled for the local sub shop and placed the order. Half an hour and they'd have a nice dinner with very little effort involved.

He pulled a small gift from his overnight bag before dumping it in his bedroom, and then set the gift on the coffee table. It wasn't much, but he hoped his mom would like it. He kicked his feet up, turned on the tv, and waited.

He was lost in the show when the lock clicked in the door and his mother walked in. He barely registered her and didn't look away from the tv.

"A Charlie Brown Christmas?" she asked. He smiled.

"Mmm. It was this, A Christmas Story, or three different channels of It's a Wonderful Life. Besides, I like the Snoopy dance." She chuckled and headed upstairs to change out of her work uniform. By the time she was done, the sandwiches had arrived and Bridge was getting them all laid out. She collapsed on the couch next to him and he passed the pastrami on rye her way.

The sun was well set before they finished eating. Bridge cleaned up while his mother got the chanukiah ready. Seven candles plus one shamash. It would be stunning with all the light. Bridge shut off the television on his way over to the little table in front of the window. His mother struck the match for the shamash, and then within a matter of seconds, had lit everything else. The living room glowed with the warmth and Bridge smiled. This always was his favourite part. He recited the blessings with his mother and then thrust the present into her hands and demanded she open it right away.

"You didn't have to get me anything!" she exclaimed. He just smiled when she pulled out the small silver star of david necklace. It wasn't much, but it would replace the one she'd broken months ago. She hadn't worn one since.

"Oh Bridgey," she sighed. She hugged him tight and kissed his forehead as thanks, just as she'd done when he was small. She clasped it around her neck and it glinted in the candlelight. He reached for his and she stopped him with a hand.

"There's a story to it first, honey. I've had it waiting for you for years now, but I waited until now for a reason." He waited patiently. She took a deep breath and he saw her hand shaking. "I thought about giving it to you at your last birthday. Eighteen is a big deal. The number of chai. The number of life. Very important. But this… it's a religious object and I thought, well, a more religious date might be more appropriate."

"Chanukah's not that religious, Mama. Pretty minor holiday, really, in comparison." She glared at him and he knew better than to interrupt again.

"I realize that, but it's the only other time you get presents. And before you say a word, Purim doesn't count! I know you don't go to shul and I know the religious significance is moot. But it was still important I give it to you." Bridge furrowed his eyebrows and opened the box. Inside, folded in half, was a dark blue silk kippah. It had delicate silver designs stitched around the edges, looping the entire way around. It looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

"It's a kippah," he said. He wanted to say thank you, he knew it was important, but he couldn't figure it out. She knew he wouldn't wear it but two or three times a year and this seemed too fancy, very well made, to just be a once in a while ritual gift.

"It was your Zayde's," she replied. He sucked in a deep breath. His Zayde's kippah. Well that changed everything.

"Zayde's…" he whispered. He took one glove off and delicately fingered the stitching. He didn't get any memories, but he could feel his Zayde still hiding in it, his emotions, his devotion, his very essence intertwined with all the fibers of the kippah. Zayde had worn it every single day and all that life had been infused to the kippah. Bridge immediately put it on and vowed to wear it at every opportunity, no matter what his actual beliefs were.

"You don't mind?" she asked. His swallowed over a lump in his throat.

"It was Zayde's." It was the only answer he needed to give. She understood. No man had ever been so important to him as his grandfather. His mother had raised him well all on her own and he absolutely attributed everything he was becoming to her. But his Zayde had shown him how to be a man, what a true man should be. He had spent his whole life trying to be someone his Zayde would be proud to call family.

He took off a glove and held his mother's hand tight. They sat in silence as the candles burnt down beside them.


	8. Night 8

Sunday December 21, 2025

Age twenty-one

Bridge was lonely. He knew it shouldn't be a big deal, but it was the last night of Chanukah, the most beautiful night, and he was alone. His mother had gone to Bubbe's for the weekend and he'd had to stay behind on alert for attacks. He didn't want it to bother him. After all, he was an adult. He was capable of celebrating a holiday on his own. But he'd never had a last night of Chanukah without his mom. He missed her. And he hated to be alone.

He was sitting at a table in the common room, staring out the window as the stars poked through the night sky. He had the dreidel his grandfather gave him all those years ago in front of him and he was absently spinning it over and over again. To go all out and revel in the last day, he'd pulled out Zayde's kippah, used Boom's toaster, and was even wearing his father's watch. But he didn't have a menorah or candles to light. He was pretty sure Cruger wouldn't allow an open flame in the common room anyway.

"Bridge?" a voice asked behind him. He looked up to see Z standing there. She had a familiar looking box and a book of matches in her hand. He smiled up at her and she sat down next to him, placing the box in front of him. There was Hebrew writing on it.

"Is that…?" he asked, trailing off.

"Your mother's menorah? Yes, it is," she replied with a devilish grin. She pulled it out of the box and set it in front of him.

"But I don't have any candles." He'd barely finished speaking when a box of small multi-coloured Chanukah candles landed on the table right in front of him. He looked up, startled, straight into Jack's smiling face.

"You were saying?" he asked. Bridge laughed. Okay, so he had candles now. He was set.

"Wait wait! You can't light them yet! I brought dinner." Syd called from the doorway, carefully balancing a large sealed serving bowl in her hands.

"You cooked?" Sky asked, coming in behind her.

"No, of course not, silly. Mother had the chef make it," she said, passing the bowl to Bridge. He pulled back the lid to reveal steaming matzah ball soup. It smelled delicious and there was enough there to feed everybody.

"What did you bring, Sky?" Bridge asked. Sky smirked at him.

"Myself. My presence is present enough." Bridge laughed at him. He supposed that was true enough.

"Hey, wait for me! I want to watch too!" Boom came running into the room, tripping over his own feet. A bag slid across the floor and a whole bunch of chocolate coins rolled out and scattered.

"You brought the gelt! Thanks, Boom. We can play dreidel." Bridge smiled as he helped his best friend up. They collected the gelt and tossed it back in the bag. There was enough chocolate to last a year.

Bridge's friends pulled up chairs, crowding around him as he pulled out nine candles. Some of the cadets in the common room hovered on the edges of the group trying to see what was going on. He saw Sam trying to peak in amongst a group of older cadets. He was still so young, but Bridge felt a connection. He might have been younger than they were, but they all came from the same place, had the same hardships. He should be included too. Bridge motioned him over.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked hesitantly. Bridge pointed to the chair across from him and Sam went around the table to sit.

"I'm setting up my menorah so I can light the Chanukah candles. One candle a night for eight nights. It's a holiday celebrating a victory from a war a long time ago." Bridge said as he began to put candles in the chanukiah.

"What kind of war?" Sam asked.

"A war of oppression. We were different, and the ruler didn't like that. So he tried to outlaw it. But we fought back and won the right to be ourselves, to be different, and to live in peace." Sam seemed to ponder that for a moment, reaching out and feeling the wick of one of the candles.

"Kind of like us now, right?" Bridge smiled at him.

"Yeah, Sam, kind of like us right now." Jack reached down and tousled Sam's hair. Bridge placed the last candle in it's spot and Sam reached out and grabbed his hand.

"Nice watch," he said, staring. Bridge looked from Sam to his watch and back again. He took it off and handed it over.

"You can hold it for me, for awhile," he said. Sam beamed at him and slid the watch onto his wrist. It hung very loosely, weighing down Sam's hand, but he didn't seem to care. His smile transported Bridge back to a time when he was a young boy, long wavy hair, and the watch became his. He cleared his throat and looked away, lest he get lost in the memories.

With a full chanukiah, he pulled out the matches and hesitated. It was against regulations to have an open flame in the building outside of the safety precautions in the kitchens. Sky wasn't lecturing, for once, but he didn't want any of them to get in trouble.

"What are you waiting for, Carson?" a gruff voice asked from the end of the table. He looked up to see Cruger standing there, rather stiffly, with Dr. Kat by his side.

"Well, it's against regulations, Sir. And it feels wrong to break the rules with you standing right here? Not that I'd break them when you're not standing right here. Or at all. Or something?" Cruger actually laughed, big deep guffaws.

"You have my permission. Go ahead, son." His voice was quiet, calming. Bridge smiled. He always got that weird fuzzy feeling inside when Cruger called him that.

Bridge struck the match and lit the candles. He said the Hebrew blessings, his solitary voice loud and clear in the quiet that fell over the common room. With all eight candles and the shamash, the chanukiah was a beacon of light in the room. He pushed it towards the window. It was only right to display it for all the world to see.

"Happy Chanukah, Bridge," Dr. Kat said, a familiar smile on her face. Bridge had that niggling sensation that he'd known that smile before now, but he couldn't quite place it. He tugged on his gloves and nodded his thanks.

Tears sprung to his eyes as he looked at the small group of people huddled around him. Not a single one of them celebrated his holiday, and most probably didn't even understand it, but they were here with him anyway. They'd gone out of their way to make sure he could celebrate, that he wouldn't be alone. They were all there, every last one of them. Z, Syd, Sky, Jack, Boom, Cruger, Kat, even Sam. They were as much his family as his own mother, and he was glad to be with them on this night, the most beautiful of nights.

Jack served up the soup, enough for everybody, and Bridge scooted his chair to bump up with Z's while everybody else struck up their own conversations. She was so close, side to side, that he could feel her every breath. She reached up to trace the pattern on his kippah, just as she'd done every time she saw him wear it.

"How'd you get my mother's menorah?" he asked. She hummed low in her throat.

"I made a phone call. And I borrowed your keys. Your mom told me where to find it. She was glad we planned to do this for you. She wished you could have gone with her." He could feel Z begin to twirl his hair. He closed his eyes at the sensation and slowly, quietly, removed one of his gloves underneath the table. He let the affection from his friends seep into him. It surrounded him, enveloping him in the warmth. So much love from so many people. He really was lucky. He reached out and took her other hand in his. She gasped at the touch. Skin on skin was rare with him, but he wanted to really feel her right now.

"Thank you," he whispered. She smiled, but didn't say anything. She didn't have to. He could feel it all. It was the best Chanukah present he could have wished for.


End file.
